An Angel's Blood
by Delilah Draken
Summary: [WIP - SLASH] When hate and love collide, and only shadows remain. When a soul is lost and a heart sacrificed, when blood flows and old wounds heal. Only then can a misguided heart be reborn and an old debt be paid. Only then can the old rift be mended.
1. Prologue

> **Title:** An Angel's Blood  
**Author:** Delilah Draken  
**E-Mail:** delilahsdarknessyahoo.de  
**Website:** www.delilahsdarkness.de.vu **Rating:** PG-13 (for now)  
**Fandom:** Star Wars (ANH, ESB, ROTJ)  
**Pairing(s):** Darth Vader/Han Solo  
**Sequel/Series:** n/a (for now)  
**Status:** Work In Progress  
**Started:** May 18, 2004 - 11.02 hrs  
**Finished:** n/a  
**Disclaimer:** The stories are mine. All the rest - characters and locations you've heard of in TV shows, movies, books etc - belong to their respective owners. I am just borrowing them.  
**Summary:** When hate and love collide, and only shadows remain. When a soul is lost and a heart sacrificed, when blood flows and old wounds heal. Only then can a misguided heart be reborn and an old debt be paid. Only then can the old rift be mended.  
**Warnings:** slash, mpreg, a bit of violence - nothing too graphic
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> **_ An Angel's Blood _**
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> by  
Delilah Draken 
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> _ Prologue _
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> They say one cannot dream in hibernation, that because of the stasis all thought is stopped. They say one cannot feel the time flow by, how the universe changes without you even realizing that it happens.
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> They lie.
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> Dreams are the one sole reason nobody lost their sanity while imprisoned in a protecting layer of coldness. Dreams make one fly to places long lost under the pressure of memories and allow them to follow a path that, once realized, is as fast sought to be forgotten as it sets foot into the conscious mind.
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> Dreams are the gate to one's wishes and as such deemed a necessity in protecting what is never allowed to be seen.
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> Dreams are...
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> Dreams are the lonely soul's last hope.
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> Coruscant.
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> In the old language a word for beauty. A meaning for a hopeless crusade. A reason for love.
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> Coruscant.
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> Once a place of protection. A sanctuary for those who seek guidance in their pain.
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> Coruscant.
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> In legend the name of a cruel warrior who sacrificed everything, even his own soul to protect what was his. The name of a fallen hero.
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> Iego.
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> Even now in these blood thirsty days a home for the longing. A temple for a dead race.
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> Iego.
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> Legend tells us that angels find their home on the Shadow Moon. That the eternal darkness is their last chance at survival.
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> Iego.
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> Coruscant.
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> Two lovers who were never supposed to meet. Two souls, lost in their own loneliness, forever united but never allowed to touch.
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> They say one cannot dream in hibernation, that the border between memory and fantasy becomes nothing more than a thin fog that surrounds one's mind.
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> They are right.
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> For only those who felt the coldness, the protection of darkness know how it feels. Only those can tell of what they saw behind the shadows of their own mind.


	2. Chapter One

> **Author's Note:** My apologies for the long delay, though I have to admit it seems I learn how to write faster. Two weeks are a lot better than the nearly two months since I last posted something for my 'The Phantom of the Opera' mpreg. If only I could control my muse and bring myself to write regularly. sigh Anyway, I hope this part is to your liking.
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> Delilah - June 02, 2004 
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> _ Chapter One _
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> Pain surrounds our very being. It is everywhere, never to be escaped, never to be ignored. For in pain lies the knowledge of life. For without pain there is no survival. Without the everlasting reality that grounds one in the now there is no future.
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> And a future there must be. That is the first lesson. Protect the future, even with your death. Every breeder knows that, follows that age old rule till the day their soul is permitted to trespass into the shadows. Thus one is allowed to free a bound heart, walk the path to the moons and gain one's true desire.
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> Every breeder is taught that way. And when the day comes that the pain becomes too much, that their will alone can't hold them in this realm any longer, they relinquish all power and become one with their other half. To follow one's heart is to follow one's future. And to follow, to follow in every sense of the word, is to lose all rights to true solitude.
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> "Shh, everything will be fine." Soothing words spoken in a soft voice, permitting him to believe in peace, if only for a short moment, only to leave him in the end. They always leave him, everyone who dared to threaten the unconquerable walls around his heart. Always the same. Like mother, like teacher, like friend, like angel. Always the same.
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> "No, I won't leave you. Never." Should he trust these words, this voice that just can't be ignored in his cocoon of physical pain? Should he? Or must he? Is there even a choice?
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> Touch, so light that one might think it was only a dream, but knows it is hard reality. Touch, so full of emotion that even denying its mere existence is beyond imagination. Who is this person that wants him to live? Who dares to make him _want_ to live? Who?
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> Who...
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> The human mind is a strange thing. One moment there is no recollection of things past, the next a sound, a smell or even a touch can bring back memories that have no right to exist. Though it depends heavily on one's point of view, to recall what once was and never will be can only be called sweet torture.
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> To recall is to know. And in knowing lies certain death. But what a time it was, before the pain, before being forced to leave the only soul he ever loved. How beautiful the pale eyes as they laid sight on him for the first time in these hated white rooms that reeked of healing. How protected he felt. How happy he was. How in dreams touch became reality when awake all he could do to not show his yearning. How he was loved and cherished and promised to never have to be alone.
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> Never alone. What a cruel joke these words are. What pain they caused. Does he really want to know who made those promises oh so long ago? Is he brave enough to remember? Does he dare ask?
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> Who...
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> "Who are you?" Is that his voice? This broken instrument that pains its user when only whispering? Is that all that remains of the once silken tones that loved to speak of fairy tales and knights of legends old? Is that all?
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> The soft touch returns. Hesitatingly as before, but so full of love that it makes him nearly forget. But he does not succumb to the old instinct that orders him to deny, to just forget and be safe. This time he is brave enough. This time there is no fear.
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> Again the question. And waiting. Waiting, waiting in silence that screams as loud as fire burns but is as comfortable as dreaming of things that cannot be.
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> "Someone who loves you." Four soft spoken words that destroy all hope he ever had. For the one whose arms are now around him, holding him in a way he missed so dearly, is not the one he wants it to be. And though he knows he makes a grave mistake, probably signs his own death warrant with this deed, he cannot keep from uttering the one word he is not allowed to use, the one name that means the world to him.
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> "Darth..."
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> And in a place as cold as hell a lonely soul allows himself a tiny smile of happiness.


	3. Chapter Two

> **Author's Note:** My apologies for the long wait. I could tell you something about writer's block or problems in real life that kept me from writing, but I would have to lie. I'm just a terribly slow writer. -shrugs- Anyway, I have more reason for this author's note than my always returning apologies. 
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> To understand some aspect of this chapter I have to tell you where I got the idea from. When I was a little girl, I was terribly frightened of the dark, always told stories about shadow monsters wanting to eat me alive. So my mum let a nightlight on, to help me sleep. But it didn't work. The nightmares got even more realistic. And one day my grandfather told me a story. Told me about the monsters becoming more powerful in the light, that they couldn't find me if it were really dark in my room. He told me that in darkness one can be protected. 
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> **Dedication:** To my dear grandfather. For the gift of silent dreams I have to thank you, Papa. May this give you something to smile about in heaven. I miss you. 
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> Delilah - June 30, 2004 
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> _- Chapter Two - _
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> Darth... 
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> There it is. The one truth that should never have been, but can no longer be denied. Or even hidden. Poor boy. Poor lonely boy, he tells himself as he leaves the safe haven of arms that hold him so lovingly. Poor boy who never dared to cross the bridge. Poor stupid boy, so full of fear and longing that leaving the one place where happiness was free to hold seemed like the only chance. Poor boy to believe such nonsense. 
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> He is in pain. More pain than he ever imagined, and the reason is not what he wants it to be. No lingering discomfort remains to keep the torture awake. No memory to cling to that reminds him of treachery and hate. Nothing but a cold emptiness. Nothing. 
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> He wants to cry, to seal his fate and lose himself. To escape in the only way he has. But he does not. At least not now. Now is not a time for tears. 
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> The room is dark in a way that makes him shudder. He knows darkness, probably better than most. Knows what the dark can do and what it takes to keep it at bay. He knows that true darkness is not evil. Despite what one learns, the dark is never evil. It is pure. It is the epitome of protection. In the total black of night the shadows have no power. And thus it keeps one safe. 
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> But this room is dark. It is filled with twilight and shadows, so that the grey becomes black. Disturbingly familiar. Frighteningly equal to another room he once had the honour to inhabit, though only in its function. Nothing else. This room, this cell does not remind him of his home before he finished his training. No it does not. I cannot. 
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> And thus he dreams. 
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> He is running. Running away from what he can't remember, nor does he care. All he wants is to get away, as far away as his feet can carry him. What the teachers told him frightens him to his very core. No, it can't be true. No. His father was Corellian, not some freak from a strange mystical planet.. No, the teachers obviously made a mistake. That's it. They made a mistake. That is why they brought him here to this desolate place. That is the reason. The only reason. 
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> There. A door. Behind which he will probably find a place to hide, and if not that at least a way out of here. But what he finds is not what he wished for. No way to freedom, no dark cupboard to protect him from the doctors. What he finds is only a private room. A room which is not empty if the angry voice is any indication. 
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> "Leave me alone." No, not angry. More like desperate for a moments peace. Sad. 
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> His feet bring him to the white curtains that surround the patient's bed without him even ordering it. His hand, broken more times than he cares to think about, longs to touch the soft cloth and move it aside to see what is behind it. Just a bit more, just a tiny step and he is there. Just... 
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> He is pressed against the wall. The very air seems to hold him prisoner. Not even the smallest of movements is allowed in this chain of nothing that seems to delight in his pain, in his fear. For one moment he is at the brink of death, welcomes the thought of him leaving this existence, but as fast as the thought came it goes away. 
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> What was that? 
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> "I said, leave me alone." 
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> This time he does not run. 
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> "Wake up, sleepy head. Dream time's over." This voice he remembers, would have remembered with his ears cut of. It is the voice of someone who would never betray him, never hurt him. The voice of a trusted friend sworn to protect him at all cost, a companion who is at his side since nearly eighteen years ago. 
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> "Chewie? Is that really you?" he asks though he already knows the answer. 
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> "Of course, it is I. Who did you... Oh." Silence follows. A thick silence one does not wish to break. "I take it you remember?" Remember? Did he really remember? Or are the memories now filling his mind nothing more than wishful thinking? He does not know. It hurts to think of the past. 
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> What he knows is of the now, and now at this moment he is as sure as one can be that the one person who owns his heart is as lonely as he. What he knows is that to return, to follow his heart, would be to betray all he has fought for in the past. And it frightens him to realize the decision is already made. 
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> "Yes, I remember. I remember everything, Chewie." Every painful detail, every oh so tiny secret. He just doesn't know what to do with it. 
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> At the other end of the galaxy a beauty finds her way through the great emptiness that is space. Those who serve her call her many names, but Lady is one of the most cherished. She is a cold mistress, full of danger and intrigues, but also never ending devotion. For she is the Silver Queen, daughter of proud ideals and foolish dreams. She is the one who will decide about the end of this conflict that divides the planets. 
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> She is the Great Lady Executor. Flag ship of the Empire. Protector and destroyer. Lover and killer. And home to one of the most feared warriors ever known to sentient society. 
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> May she find it in her heart to have mercy with us all.


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note:** My deepest apologies for leaving you hanging for so long with this story. The words just didn't want to be typed. Also I want to tell those who read my mpreg ala Phantom of the Opera to have just a bit more patience with me. I know I'm writing terribly slow, but I can't write any other way.

I hope I didn't make it too mysterious who the characters in this chapter are and you are able to guess who I'm talking about even without me writing the names. Okay, that was all I had to say. I hope you like what I've written so far.

Delilah - August 09, 2004 

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_- Chapter Three -_

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She sits in darkness, wallows in pain and misery, and the only thing her bleeding heart deems worthy enough to be honoured with her thought is he. He who betrayed everything she believes in. He who destroyed her dreams of happiness and freedom. He who made her whole world burn to ashes with only one word uttered without thinking.

He. Man without honour. Smuggler. Servant of the Hutts. Scoundrel. Mercenary. Traitor.

He deserves the punishments painted in her mind, deserves all the cruelties her extensive imagination can come up with. He who broke her heart will pay. Pay in blood and soul. Pay in love and hate.

Old tales, long forgotten and now remembered, tell her that revenge is a dish best served cold. And cold it will be, patiently awaited and cultivated for a long time, her revenge will utterly destroy him. For the Hells of Sith and beyond are nothing but a drop on hot stones in comparison to a woman's fury when denied.

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He cannot sleep. The sweet kiss of oblivion, the oh so cherished void of nothingness that can only be achieved in the deepest slumber escapes him time and again. He tells himself that it is his new position in the hierarchy of Her Lady's command structure that makes him nervous, makes him pace his quarters like a caged feline predator. He tells himself that it is only a little bit of stress because he is still not used to being an Admiral.

He tells himself many things that - though he has to admit to their validity in keeping him from finding rest - are not the origin of his insomnia. For there is no other reason for his sleepless nights than the close proximity of his rooms to the Krayt's Lair, those dreaded halls which are rumoured to be the home of a deadly monster, a fear inspiring creature of fire and darkness.

Of course, the rumours are nothing but fairy tales, fantastical stories the crew creates to alleviate their fear of the highly eccentric man who lives next door. Nothing but stupid tales that would sell extraordinary in the holo halls, he tells his exhausted mind.

Why then isn't he sleeping peacefully and with a stupid smile on lips while dreaming of his beloved fiancé? Why?... Because she left you, he yells silently. Because she realized that a surgeon is much better husband material than an idealistic fool of a soldier. Because you are as good as dead now that Darth Vader knows your face, a tiny voice of reason whispers in his head. Or is it the voice of fear, simple panic that hinders him at thinking clearly?

He groans and stops pacing, stops moving altogether and slumps against the nearest wall to let his skull make the acquaintance with the conveniently placed hard object behind him, namely the aforementioned wall. Repeatedly bone makes contact with unforgiving metal. Pain clears his mind from everything not needed at the moment and brings a much desired moment of clarity. Not that he wants this result of his actions. No, he would prefer to knock himself out cold, at least he'd get some sleep if not rest. Or go beyond that and end it all.

But he never goes that far, never allows himself to act on his skittish instincts. Blood stains are enough of a pain to get out of the furniture, he really doesn't need to think about what brain matter and cracked bones would do to his carpet. Poison makes the job much cleaner. Or perhaps his Lordship would like to do the honours...

He is roused from his contemplating a preferable method of suicide by the sound of something heavy breaking. Or more like someone throwing furniture through the room. Maybe it was that annoying medidroid that always tries to get the two highest ranking men on board of Her Lady into the infirmary for an examination. Or maybe not. As amusing the thought of a thoroughly eviscerated droid would be, it wasn't what made the sound. So what was it, he thinks. What was it, if not the Master of Darkness next door venting his frustrations on a piece of medical equipment?

Against his better judgement he leaves his quarters to find his way to the door at the end of the hall, the second of only three doors on this deck. And the truly astonishing thing is, a sarcastic voice in his head says, you are insane enough to disturb his Darkness only to ask if he is okay. Pathetic. Truly pathetic. And very bad for your health. Don't you have an ounce of survival instinct?

The door opens before he can touch the call button. Strange, he thinks but goes in nonetheless. What awaits him is the sight of his Lordships sphere, breathing, medical, whatever chamber lying at the far away wall and not anchored at its normal place directly in front of the entrance. Definitely heavy furniture, my friend. Annoyed he tells his brain to shut up, straitens his shoulders and follows the path of destruction into the uncharted and dangerous regions of the Krayt's Lair.

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- / - - / - -

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She is allowed to leave her cell because she pleases the Master's eye. That is what they tell her as she is clothed in the traditional garb of a Hutt's concubine. A shudder is repressed at the thought of one of those disgusting 'things' touching her the way she intended to allow the traitor to touch her.

Be patient. Just wait. Your time will come. Like a prayer she repeats these words over and over again. Those who dared to... to... They will pay. They will pay soon enough.   
  



End file.
